Iris
by mrscribble
Summary: For the seven colours of the rainbow, there are seven extraordinary teenagers with seven different stories to tell. CH5: Blue. Odie is always the one who makes things right. JT, later AA. Behind the scenes scenarios.
1. Red

**Chapter One: Red **

As the leader of a team of seven teenaged heroes destined to save the world by fighting an evil time-warping god, Jay Argos was accustomed to dealing with blood. More than once, the sticky red liquid had made its way oozing from someone's skin as they looked down at it, forehead furrowed in confusion and face growing pale until they fainted.

He had learned to associate the colour red with disbelief.

* * *

Once, the team were sent to deal with a chimera the size of a small corner store, a feat that was difficult even by their standards. After a good half hour minutes trying to subdue the beast, the first injury was delivered to the person Jay cared about even more than the rest of his team: Theresa. His heart stopped for a moment as he watched her helplessly. Her fingers reached to her stomach, clutching the three diagonal wounds that the beast had slashed across her skin, red hair tousled by the breeze as she glanced down at the blood seeping through her fingers in confusion, disbelief, then growing anger.

Theresa had never been weak, he remembered then, the furious expression on her face startling even the chimera.

Tearing her hand away from the tender spot on her torso, she'd grabbed her nunchucks roughly and sent them flying at the chimera, the hard wood of the handles squarely looping its tail and the sharp chain cleanly severing the snake's head protruding from the tip as the other six looked on, amazed and quite impressed.

After that, it had been a lot easier to defeat the animal.

It was only after they'd defeated the mythical creature that Jay remembered Theresa's wound, and then his helplessness was justified. Growing pale as the stain on her shirt grew, Neil had been the first to notice her troubled expression when she attempted to stagger uphill to Herry's truck (curse him to Olympus for noticing before Jay did!) After the necessary panic, they'd carted her directly to the gods in Herry's monster truck. By that time, her voice had started to fade and her eyelids droop to the loud beating of Jay's heart as moved from his usual seat in the van in order to tightly clutch her hand. Archie had noticed and made a lame pun about him squeezing the life out of her. It hadn't been funny.

Once in the presence of the gods, Jay's beating heart was quieted somewhat. Hera's comforting, always consistently calm voice helped his nerves cool a little, even when Chiron appeared and gravely voiced his opinion that the wound was deep, and would not be too easily healed. That night was long, full of pacing up and down close to her bed, punctuated by short bursts of hope shortly followed by extreme disappointment.

They had stayed at her bedside for hours, until Neil stood and stretched, voicing his lack of sleep. Glancing at their disbelieving faces, he protested that school would still be in session the next day, and four hours of sleep was better than none at all.

A few minutes after he'd left, Herry and Odie reluctantly agreed. "No rest for the wicked, and that includes teachers," Herry had half-heartedly joked, though his eyes worriedly took in Theresa's still figure before they left, huddled and close and making quiet footsteps as if making a sound would worsen Theresa's shaky condition.

It was a good quarter-hour before Archie had stood up and stretched, getting slightly restless. He had the potential to become the best warrior of the group, though his restlessness and impatience knocked him down a notch. The violet-haired teenager gave a yawn and told the two remaining visitors he was going to catch some rest, and his glance moved across both red-headed girls, one lying with shallow breaths on crisp white sheets, the other absorbing her friend's condition with tired eyes. The quiet, wistful sigh that followed from his lips, Jay was certain, had to do with both the girls, though one slightly more than the other.

Not long after, Atlanta left quietly, not saying a word as she stuck her hands in her pockets and hunched over, a pose that Jay recognized more from Archie than Atlanta. Habits rub off between close friends, no doubt, and the echoes of her heavy steps sounded across the silent polished floors.

Once she'd left, Jay was left in the still quiet of the god's domain, the only sound punctuating the still air being their breaths, Theresa's shallow and erratic, his faster but falling into a pattern.

He liked patterns, easily predictable and quickly solved. It was this that made him self-conscious about being the leader; at times, he had trouble thinking _outside the box,_ the mundane and simple being his plan of choice. Set bait, plant trap, catch bad guy was his favoured procedure, and it infuriated him to no end that Cronus was tricky enough to escape from their clutches time and time again. It was even worse, he considered, when one of his team was hurt; injuries were unreliable, unpredictable, and completely disabling. When he had died, he'd thought it bad enough that Atropos could conjure up creatures to catch him; it was worse, he knew now, to be helplessly watching someone on the verge from the outside.

He'd stayed at her side for another hour, ignoring the frequent interruption of gods sticking their heads around the door to see how they were doing or to tell him to go to bed. She didn't move, save for one moment when she'd gasped for breath and made his heart erupt into mixed desperation and hope.

It was around the time Jay decided to give up and leave that Theresa's hand twitched slightly, fingers curling slowly. He'd stared, hoping against hope that her eyes would flutter open - like so - and her lips would part for another breath. Her eyes, disoriented at first but connecting to his in due time, were clear, and his heart erupted into another shower of happiness.

"Jay."

The brown-haired Argos had never known such emotion could be released by just one that syllable, losing control of his normally calm exterior and standing, hastily bombarding her with questions about how she felt and did she need anything? Her face was still pale, white as cold, cold ice against her bright lips and the small amount of blood leaking through the bandage around her stomach, but she'd managed to chuckle softly with a glimmer in her eye and say, "I'll be alright."

It was at that moment when Jay let go completely, amazed and confused and euphoric all at the same time, when Theresa uttered those three words. On an impulse - something he so dearly disliked, for he followed patterns, _damn_ it all to Olympus - Jay leaned forward over Theresa and gently brushed his mouth against her lips, the redness of her cheeks matching with the colour of her lips as he raised his head and looked back at her. It was that expression on her face, disbelief at first then laced with a contentment Jay hadn't experienced for a long time, that placed the final missing piece in the puzzle.

She smiled at him.

* * *

As the leader of a team of seven teenaged heroes destined to save the world by fighting an evil time-warping god, Jay Argos was accustomed to dealing with emotion. His friends exhibited it all the time - Atlanta's defiance, Neil's pride, Herry's patience, Odie's wicked mischief, Theresa's independent happiness, Archie's restlessness - and he'd lost his temper or felt amazing because of emotion more than once.

Yes, he had learned to associate the colour red with disbelief, but he'd also learned to associate the rich, bright colour to emotion; defiance, impatience, pride -

And joy.


	2. Orange

**Chapter Two: Orange **

"Herry, dear, come here. I have a present for you."

Looking up from his place tending to the fruit trees looming overhead around the perimeter of his garden, the ten-year-old boy obediently stood and brushed his dirty hands across the patched cloth of his shorts. Carefully and methodically putting the spade and clippers back on the ground, Herry walked over to his grandmother, who sat in a rocking chair knitting. She dumped the quickly forming blue sweater at her feet, and smiled toothlessly at him.

"That?" the boy asked as he pointed at the sweater, confused, "I thought that was for the chicken?"

Shaking her head with a laugh, his grandmother stood and began digging around in the pockets of her apron. "No, I've got something better," she grunted, as she produced several balls of fluff and a few chicken feathers. "I'm sure you'll love it."

Patiently standing in front of her, Herry stuck his own hands in his pockets, feeling the soft dirt encrusted on the tips of his fingers. He had grown up around dirt and fields his whole life, and had worked the crops and fed the animals for what seemed his whole life; guaranteed, he wasn't the brightest lightbulb in the package, but he knew good apples from bad and when the hens were sick, which was good enough for him. He couldn't remember not being with his grandmother; she stated that his parents were off in a city somewhere, making a living for their future, but sometimes Herry wondered whether she was just making it all up, especially when the letters he sent off were returned, unopened and without a reply. He got by perfectly well without his parents, though; she cooked and cleaned and often went out with her sleeves rolled up to harvest the wheat, and he helped out on the farm with his above-average strength and endurance. His fear of bacteria didn't hinder them in the least, unless they had to tackle the pig sties.

With an 'aha!', Granny finally dug out the object she was looking for, and dropped it into his now outreached hand. Herry blinked at it for a moment as the light glinted off its metallic surface. Finally, his mind registered and he looked back up to his grandmother. "A toy truck?"

"I hope you like it, Herry," she said happily, eyes squinting up in her huge smile. "You do, don't you?"

Hesitating, Herry looked back down at the orange toy truck sitting in his palm. He was ten years old and far past the toy truck stage, though he'd never really been in that stage at all, especially when there were real tractors on the farm and animals to play with. However, he never wanted to disappoint his Granny; she was the only other person who really believed he would amount to something. His teachers thought him stupid and only just passing school with the grades he worked so hard for, and all the other kids at school made fun of him for living with his eccentric grandmother as well as his strangely growing appetite and strength. It would not be a wise choice to cause his grandmother unhappiness, he decided, and put on a smile. "Thanks, Granny," he said quietly, pocketing the toy truck.

Smile growing even bigger, she regarded him for a silent moment with a twinkle in her eye. "Good," his Granny finally answered happily, then picked up her knitting and started inside. "I put some peach cobbler in the oven. It should be done soon, why don't I cut you a piece with some lemonade?"

Herry's smile widened, genuinely becoming a grin. "Thanks, Granny!" he replied excitedly, and she gave him one last smile before diappearing through the screen door. Amused as he shook his head, Herry turned back to the apple tree and took out the orange truck from his pocket. "Orange," Herry muttered, and chuckled.

* * *

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

It wasn't fair, Herry wanted to shout as he stormed out of the brownstone, slamming the door so spectacularly it visibly trembled on its hinges. It wasn't _fair_. He hadn't chosen to not be the sharpest tack in the drawer. If he'd wanted, he would have chosen anything but, anything that wouldn't merit ridicule from the very people he classified as his friends.

Of course, it was a different situation here; most people weren't thrown together into a realm of chaos where mythology and reality merged, weren't separated from their homes and turned upside down into a world of supernatural legends and beautiful goddesses hidden deep inside a high school only normal on the surface. People didn't usually decide to be unbreakable friends after only knowing each other for two weeks.

But the usual always came to a grinding halt when it came to Herry.

On a normal - or not so normal - night at the brownstone, when the seven had gathered around the TV for a special all-night feature on Greek mythology - Jay deciding it educational, Archie declaring it fun to make fun of - the screen flickered quietly as an opening theme slid across the screen. Brilliant colours mixed and merged as various people began to move on the screen amid a mass of text.

Too quick, too impatient to read the title fading in below the image, Herry had pointed to the man dragging a huge lion-like creature across the screen, asking who it was. With a burst of laughter, the others had not answered his question, only rolling about in chuckles as he realised with dread it was Hercules. Famous Hercules, amazing Hercules - his ancestor, Hercules, in the days of his youth as depicted by the show.

His face burned red as their laughter subsided into giggles. "Didn't you _see_ it?" Atlanta managed to squeak. Neil's grin widened as he gave another high-pitched laugh, not missing a chance to turn to look at him and deadpan, "we already knew he couldn't read, now he's _blind_ as well!"

Though Jay immediately straightened up with a frown on his face and Odie's eyes narrowed slightly, the others still fell about snorting in laughter, and Herry lost control. He swept his arm across the bowl of popcorn on his lap, scattering popped kernels all over the place and striding away in anger as Jay attempted, in vain, to call him back.

With another growl at the memory, Herry stormed up to his orange truck, hoping for some driving therapy to calm him down. He was only angered further, though, when he realised he'd left his keys inside. Infuriated and out of control, the herculean teenager launched a tightly clenched fist at the clean orange paintwork, impacting the metal with a loud crunch and leaving a huge dent on the door. Several orange flakes drifted dreamily downwards, swirling about each other in a myriad of colour.

He watched them for a moment, before turning away in a rage.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Setting off down the alley in the direction of the park, Herry sighed as his shirt and shorts clung to his skin in the chilly wind. It was all very well, he decided, to be incredibly smart but have no physical skill, because then people at least knew that you could beat them in a round of verbal sparring. But he hated being so strong and fit yet have so much trouble with his grades; if he even once used his fists to defend himself, he was labelled as a brute. No matter how hard he tried, even back at the farm, he always made mistakes. The only person who really understood him was his granny, but she was all the way back at the farm in Saskatchewan - boy, could he do with some of her advice at the moment.

Picking up the pace as he rounded to corner to the park, Herry began to lightly jog against the beaten concrete path. He tried to take his mind off things, offer a grin and a wink to the pretty girls standing in a group, tip his head politely to the elderly couples strolling, but still thudding softly in the back of his mind was _stupid, stupid, stupid_.

His face setting into a grim mask, Herry's steps grew faster as his jog turned into a run, feet impacting the path and beating the rhythm in which he took his breaths. Pushing himself to the limit, he kept on running even when he had rounded the lake several times. The sky, dark and clouding over with heavy drops of rain, began to crackle with unseen energy, everyone else packing up to leave before the skies released their fury.

Herry didn't mind rain. It was dark and depressing and somewhat dirty, true, but it was good for the crops and good for the plants, and he reminded himself of how much he missed his grandmother again as he slowed to a walk, raising his arms up to embrace the falling rain. His hair and shirt were plastered to his skin and his shoes began to squelch, but he stopped in the middle of the path to savour the drops falling like crystal tears from the ever-powerful sky.

"Herry!"

Turning, eyes narrowing slightly as he squinted to tell the figure under the umbrella from the darkness of setting night, Herry's back stiffened slightly. It was Odie. Smart, resourceful, intelligent Odie. "Come to laugh at me more, eh?" Herry growled loudly, eyes narrowing further as he walked towards the smaller boy.

"Nah," he replied calmly, voice rising over the loud patter of the rain falling on the mud, "I figured you might like an umbrella."

Herry shrugged, heartbeat slowling to a reasonable pace as the other boy's voice echoed in the air. "I'm already wet."

"I saw your truck," Odie tried instead, squinting behind his green-tinted glasses. "You do that?"

His mind flickering back to the rage he'd felt earlier, Herry guiltily lowered his head and shuffled next to the other boy. "Yeah," he muttered, feeling somewhat ashamed. It wasn't good to ever lose his temper like that, and now he'd put a huge dent in the side of his beloved truck as well.

They walked in silence for a moment in the general direction of the brownstone. We must be a picture, Herry thought in some amusement, me and him together, wet and dry and big and small. With something like a pang of fondness, he reached over and ruffled the hair of Odie. Playfully pushing his hand away, Odie protested, "watch the 'fro!"

Herry rolled his eyes with a grin, sticking his hands in his pockets and looking upwards to where the clouds had begun to break. The rain had slowed somewhat, merely pitter-pattering gently on the sidewalk as they sludged through the gravel littering the back streets. A thought came to mind and Herry cautiously asked, "did Jay send you?"

Odie laughed. "No way, man," he answered with amusement. "I can think for myself, you know." Pausing slightly to focus earnestly on the other boy, Odie added gently, "you just looked like you needed someone."

Herry hesitated. "We're really - different, you know," he stated finally.

"Not really," Odie shot back. "I'm black, you're white. Not much of a difference there, it's just colour."

"No, I don't mean that," Herry said painfully, trying to stare ahead without any emotion twisting his expression, "You - you're really smart. And I'm just... stu- ow!"

Swiftly, Odie had brought around the umbrella and banged him on the head, hard, with furious written all over his face. "What was that for?" Herry asked, in shock as his hand rose to massage the side of his skull.

"Don't say that," Odie answered angrily, eyes glued on his. "Don't ever even try to say that again, or I'll - I'll - I'll punch you!"

Herry began to snicker then promptly and tactfully clapped his hand over his mouth, the image of Odie even trying to punch anything replaying pathetically in his mind. "Well, seriously," he added softly once the urge to laugh faded, "I am."

Odie flat-out stopped in the middle of the alley, the glint of Herry's orange truck just visible up the street. "No," he started out dangerously, his voice rising forcefully as he began to speak, "You aren't, and I don't ever want to hear you even try to say that you're stupid because I know you're not and even if anyone else thinks so, why do you care? You've got plenty going for you, you can fight, you can work, you can do so many things so just - shut up!"

Still breathing heavily, Odie continued to step along the alley, Herry staring at him incredulously as he followed. "They used to make fun of me at school," he said numbly, still processing the meaning of Odie's words.

Odie stared up at him for a moment, then looked away, choosing a simple sentence as he snapped his umbrella closed. "They made fun of me, too."

The silence between them was perfectly comfortable, then, as the rain stopped entirely and the clouds still lingering in the darkening sky began to fade. Herry stopped once they reached his truck, now dented on one side but still gloriously orange anyway, and asked graciously, "you want to go for a ride?"

Looking at him, a grin on his face, Odie replied cheerfully, "You bet."

Herry started patting his pockets for the keys, frowning slightly as he wondered where they were. Remembering the previous events, the larger teenager paused and looked back at Odie. "I brought them," he answered mischievously to the questioning gaze, and clumsily threw Herry the keys. Catching them easily, Herry unlocked the truck and jumped in, revving the engine as the other boy got in. Once the doors were both closed, Herry grinned down at his friend and said gently, "thanks."

With that one quiet word hanging in the air, the bright orange truck lunged forward and sped down the dark alley, forever into the darkening sky over New Olympia as an amazing friendship began.

* * *

**A/N**: There we go, orange for Herry! Just so you know, I just love the Odie/Herry dynamic in the show, I'm not a slashy person or anything, so this is just a friendship between two completely different people that somehow fits. (: Next up is yellow with a feature from one of the most-loved characters of the seven. ;) 


	3. Yellow

**Chapter Three: Yellow **

Neil yawned widely, turning off the bathroom tap as he heard Jay's alarm clock beep loudly. A groan, followed by a clap of a hand against the snooze button of the clock, punctuated the air for a second before the brownstone fell silent again.

It always happened like this; the weekend after a major battle (or at least Geography test) all of the other six teenagers slept like logs, conking out late after a celebratory popcorn and movie night and not waking up until the next afternoon. Although Neil admitted himself that he slept quite late every day, he was sometimes amazed at the amount of time his friends spent sleeping on these special days. After all, Jay was a borderline workaholic and would usually wake up bright and early to drag them all out of bed.

Of course, to the surprise of the others, Neil strictly followed rules. Rules like yellow clashes with everything and don't wear white shoes unless they're athletic shoes because that's just plain tacky governed his existence. Every day, he slept at one and shuffled out of bed at eleven, unless it was a school day, though he was lucky enough to catch a free block first thing almost every morning, which allowed him to sleep until nine. He had a certain order to his cleansing and toning procedure in the mornings; the procedure for his moisturizing session at night was complicated and only understood by Neil himself. It was a rule, even, to make sure he looked amazing every morning before he left. After all, he had standards to live up to, unlike certain teenaged boys who didn't even bother to deep-condition after dyeing their hair a deep purple.

With a content sigh, Neil perfected his image in the mirror and put away his beauty supplies. Whistling as he strolled cheerfully down the stairs, the blond mentally checked his schedule. Math quiz on Monday - he'd ace that; in-class English essay on some play about Jay's ancestor on Tuesday - that would be easy. Yes, it would be a free Sunday to enjoy.

Executing a snazzy dance move as he reached the bottom of the stairs, Neil brushed down the front of his stylish shirt and made his way to the kitchen, where Athena stood in front of the stove, cooking something that smelled delicious. He peeked over her shoulder, making a face at the golden eggs, and slumped fashionably into a chair. "Scrambled?" he drawled.

The war goddess looked back at him, raising an eyebrow. "Have a problem, Neil?" she asked dryly, as she shifted the eggs around in the pan. Neil sighed dramatically, hand reaching for his pocket. "I'm fasting," came the unexpected reply.

"You're religious?" Athena deadpanned, rolling her eyes as she turned to a second pan on the stove which contained several rashes of sizzling bacon.

Neil flashed a dazzling grin from his pose staring deep into his mirror. "When it's scrambled eggs, I am." _Rule 213, always have a comeback for political and religion-related jokes._

"Picky eater," the goddess grumbled, removing the scrambled eggs to a plate and cracking a new egg into the pan. "Over easy, then?" she called to him as he stood to examine the contents of the fridge.

"Yeah," he answered absently. "Where's the orange juice?"

"All out," Athena replied, and tapped the jug of milk beside her with a finger. "Make do with some calcium."

Taking up the milk and pouring a generous serving for himself, Neil took a neat sip with another content sigh. This was the life - birds chirping, a nice frosty glass of milk, and eggs served by a pretty damn hot goddess. What could be better?

Athena caught glance of his grin and raised an eyebrow. "What are you so happy about?"

"Just thinking," Neil coyly replied. "You know, you're pretty good-looking for a four thousand year-old goddess."

Turning away from the egg to look at the teenager, Athena propped a hand on her hip. "I'm the _virgin_ goddess, Neil, not Aphrodite," she answered, sounding amused and rather flattered, "but thank you anyway."

Attending to the egg again, Athena added with warning, "and that's three thousand to you."

Neil shrugged nonchalantly, moving to peer over the goddess' shoulder again. He watched for a few seconds before emitting a loud, shrill, entirely too girlish scream, leaping back to stumble against the kitchen table. Athena's hand flew to her sword and she swung around, ready in her battle stance. Her questioning expression fell upon Neil, and the blond held up his hands. "I have to defend my eggs sometimes," he said, raising his eyebrows. "When they look like _that,_ I have to take action."

Athena groaned. "You gave me a heart attack there, Neil," she said disapprovingly, and tossed him the spatula. "Your egg, you cook it. I'm going back to Olympia."

The teenager nodded, turning back to the egg which he prodded carefully. As Athena disappeared around the wall, Neil said, "Stop and get some orange juice on your way!"

_Rule 487: always have the last word._

* * *

Theresa, setting a record at waking up before noon, stumbled into the kitchen at precisely 11:58 and collapsed at the table dramatically, hand raised to head. Neil regarded her nightgown-clad figure appreciatively. "I sense that a certain gorgeous redhead needs to be fed!" she cried, one hand searchingly slapping on the wood of the table, "and where's the orange juice?" 

Neil smirked, neatly cutting up his egg and placing sections onto four slices of golden-brown toast alongside juicy rashes of bacon lying appetizingly on his plate. "Tell Atlanta that Athena's not around to fix us grub," he replied lazily, "and we're out of Minute Maid."

Persephone's protege frowned for a second, then slapped Neil's arm. "Hey! I was talking about me, pretty-boy," she said, and grabbed a piece of toast from his plate. "How come you've got food?" she asked enviously, taking a bite of the toast.

The blond reached over to take the toast back, polishing it off at record speed whilst letting nary a crumb fall onto the table. _Rule 116: never let anyone take one's valuable breakfast items_. "I can cook," he answered airily, starting on his cut-up egg, "but I'm not cooking for you, lazy." He paused, and added, "there's some leftover bacon."

Theresa pouted and wrinkled her nose, standing to open the fridge. Neil mentally recounted the contents: a jar of pickles, two raw eggs, two leftover hamburger buns, a bottle of spring water, a three-quarter empty jug of milk, several vegetables starting to decompose, a large slice of banana cream cake, and a lump of something which may have been identifiable as either four lollipops welded together or a purple, fuzzing, greying lump of cheese with several toothpicks inserted at random angles.

Predictably, the girl chose the bottle of water and the banana cream cake.

Watching as Theresa began to delicately eat away at the cake, Neil smiled. Her bangs flopped into her eyes and she had a serious case of bedhead (_rule 34: _never _let anyone see your bedhead_) but her eyes, now concentrated on her breakfast of sponge cake slathered in cream, perpetually danced, and her skin glowed in the early morning light.

She was pretty, all right, and he'd seen more than enough of her personality to know she was sweet, caring, and incredibly thoughtful (though dangerous at times). She reminded him somewhat of Echo, minus the irritating talking all day long and honestly odd-tasting grilled cheese sandwiches. Their similarities were quite astounding; they both understood his dilemmas much more than they seemed to show, and they both cared, however naive it was to use that word. Echo's beauty might have been lost in her words but he regretted not taking advantage of her truth. Sometimes, Neil felt that if he wasn't so damn shallow, he would do with a girl like her. Yes, Neil admitted however deep inside that he was shallow - _rule 72: recognize your faults but don't let other people see that you know_ - and he knew his personality could do with a little working on. It was, he felt strongly, part of being misunderstood as a gorgeous, brainless, mind-numbingly idiotic prick. That was one rule he failed at. _Number 297: show people your brilliant side_. Neil had never been able to. Not that he minded much, at all; sometimes, it was quite alright to be the most beautiful man on earth.

Theresa broke his reverie by commenting, "that was one monster of an amphisbaena last night, wasn't it?" He looked up to her her fork, loaded with a bite of cake, ferry into her mouth.

"It was tiring," Neil whined, pulling out his mirror and checking his golden locks. _Rule 1: always check the hair._ "We would have gotten killed if Odie hadn't figured out how to stop it from growing back again. Even though his hair is horrible, that boy has some brain."

The redhead giggled. "No, we're lucky you could pronounce the monster's name by the end of the fight. I'm really proud in you, Neil."

Neil flashed a sarcastic smile, finishing up his breakfast with a swig of milk, part of the egg's yolk sitting in the center of his plate. Inside himself, he grinned. _Rule 175: always let compliments absorb, no matter how little they're supposed to mean._ He was feeling more on the top of the world than he usually did, which was saying something. Perhaps it was the company of the lovely redheaded psychic sitting across from him that made him feel so...?

It was no wonder that Theresa was so surprised when he looked up to her with a trademark Neil grin and stated, "we should go for dinner sometime."

The redhead choked on her cream cake, desperately reaching for water to wash it down. She hacked and coughed as the blond boy sitting across from her patiently waited for her slightly melodramatic display to finish. "There's really no need for you to be so stunned and grateful," he said airily, "I don't _always_ keep myself as first priority." _Rule 72: keep cool at all times, except where necessary to go around shrieking a bit._

Theresa raised an eyebrow. "Is this Neil talking?" she asked hoarsely. "Neil as in N-e-i-l blond self-absorbed guy with _serious_ superiority complex? I just have to check that you haven't stolen away the one lucky break we might have for tracking down the god of Time."

Neil sighed. "Is that a yes or a no?" he droned, tapping the long fingers of one hand against the smooth wood of the table. "I don't have all day, you know."

Tilting her head, Theresa said softly, "Seriously?"

Neil leaned back in his chair, mimicking her and tilting his head. "Seriously."

"No."

Theresa paused after this very definite word, trying to decide whether to carry on or not.He didn't look too different, so she doubted he felt saddened by this. Theresa opened her mouth, and closed it again. "Look, it's not like... I mean... I'm still going to wait for him," she added, eyes cast downwards slightly. "You get it, right?"

He raised his eyebrows. Ever since Echo, the blond had been much more familiar with rejection, and though it didn't happen much to him, he did know the reason in this case, and wasn't going to fight it. "I'm a little surprised," he drawled, "thought you would've jumped at an opportunity to go out with simply fabulous me."

Smirking slightly, Theresa turned back to the fridge, leaving the half-eaten piece of cake inside and grabbing her water off the table. "Your powers of attraction are almost too much for me."

"Thought so," Neil answered breezily, watching her walk towards the door. "But you know..." he added, in a slightly lower tone of voice as he leaned back forward to hunch his elbows on the table, "if you ever decide to stop..."

She turned, with a faint smile. "I'll talk to you," Theresa finished, with a nod. "I'll remember."

"Good."

He looked down at his plate as she vanished from sight, and saw a new rule in the scattered yellow of the egg yolk. _She's utterly Jay's_.

* * *

There we go with yellow, which makes it 3/7 of the way through the rainbow. I hope you guys enjoyed; I know most might not like the (however one-sided) N/T of this chapter but it seemed to want to come out. Next up is green, with our favourite huntress of them all. 


	4. Green

**Chapter Four: Green **

"It's disgusting," he scowled, arms crossing authoritatively, "it is immoral and sinful and _disgusting_. I will not have my granddaughter hunt in any way possible, do you hear me? Never have I heard of such - such -"

"Father," Atlanta's mother pleaded from her position attached to her husband's arm.

He turned back to his daughter from his stance facing Atlanta. "For _sport_!" Aaron spat, taking a step towards his daughter. "I will not have any granddaughter of mine participating in such a - a - a _degenerate_ activity! It is against God's will and that is that!"

The young brunette teenager glared at her grandfather, utter hatred oozing from her die-damnit-die expression. "I'm not Jewish," she hissed, turning abruptly and storming up the staircase to her room. "Ma cherie!" Atlanta's father shouted after her, as she had stomped halfway up the stairs, "attendre!"

Her shriek was only just heard before her bedroom door slammed shut. "_Fermes vos gueules_!"

ooooooo

At seven, Atlanta ran the hundred-metre dash in three point three two seconds. Her elementary school gym teacher called her parents at two o'clock in the morning, in a hyperactive frenzy of half caffeine and half excitement. He told the little girl's parents that she ran the dash more than a third as quickly as the recorded Olympic speed. He had spent the last eight hours searching through the library and his own encyclopedias to find out whether this was humanly possible. He told them it was not.

When the stunned parents asked their daughter, she looked up at them with wide eyes and confessed, "I would've tried harder if I wasn't so tired."

ooooooo

At eight, Atlanta ran the fifteen-hundred-metre "mile" in fifty-six point nine four seconds. Her new elementary school gym teacher called her parents during lunch hour that day. He told them that it was physically and anatomically impossible to run a mile in under a minute, let alone run a mile in under a minute as a prepubescent girl. He told them to ask her how she did it.

When the surprised parents asked their daughter that night, she looked at them squarely in the eyes and replied, "Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I can't do it."

The three argued for a while and Atlanta finally said, "I just look at the trees. Can I watch TV?"

ooooooo

At ten, Atlanta's gym teacher was far crueller than before. At the enthusiastic chatter generally associated with children, he burst out in anger and ordered his class to run around the high-school track twenty-five times. By the end of the hour, the average number of laps was eight.

He called Atlanta's parents at four o'clock that afternoon and asked them why their daughter had completed twenty-five laps of the high-school track in nine minutes and cheerfully asked to do another fifty.

When the slightly bemused parents asked their daughter, she sighed and answered, "I wanted to."

ooooooo

At eleven and a half, Atlanta's gym teacher was, surprisingly, the man she'd had in grade two. Far too enthusiastic about her quickly developing skills and far too fair to stop her from racing with anyone else, he pulled all the strings he could access to enter her into a true male adult-length Philippides-based thirty-four point five kilometre marathon. Two proud parents watched their daughter train, speeding around the quiet city blocks well into the night when she trod into the house with shins splattered in mud, eyes blazing with victorious desire, weak, stick-like arms a contrast to her powerful legs. She dared to race anyone who disbelieved her, parents watching over as she beat them all.

The day of the marathon, just as she'd passed the finish line with a time of fourty-six minutes and thirty-nine point two two seconds, the male judge standing by the timing station amidst a crowd of disbelieving people cleared his throat and announced, "I'm sorry, Miss, but we have the rights to disqualify you from the race on the grounds of inequality."

As the two furious parents raged to the judge, Atlanta said nothing.

ooooooo

At twelve after the family had moved from Trois-Rivières to Montreal in order to take care of Atlanta's elderly grandfather, Atlanta's parents received a second-semester report card from Atlanta's school. Below the weak physical education mark, her teacher had handwritten the note _will not participate in races or running activities and does not try in other sports_.

When the utterly confused parents asked their daughter, she slammed her door. They listened at the space below the wood of her door and determined that she was not crying.

Her mother made a fuss when Atlanta emerged, her hair newly dyed a bright fire-engine red.

ooooooo

At twelve and a half, Atlanta had taken up archery and abandoned running. Her parents liked one of the boys enrolled in her class because he was polite and charming and absolutely _adored_ their daughter; they encouraged her to bring him home, make friends, at least try to talk to him? Whenever they pointed out that she needed to make some _better_ friends who would not eventually laugh at her bright hair colour - which, for some unfortunate reason, was renewed every time it became dull - she rolled her eyes. "I don't need any dumb boys, or new friends."

The two frustrated parents rather wondered where their seven-year-old baby girl had disappeared to.

ooooooo

At thirteen, Atlanta was the best archer at the professional archery range she had classes at. During competitions she easily beat all other competitors, demonstrating her ability to shoot the perfect centre of a target that shook, slid, moved, or occasionally disappeared behind the leafy green forest behind the range. Atlanta's impressed archery instructor called her parents and suggested they register her in provincial or even national competitions.

The two parents never touched the registration forms the instructor gave them.

ooooooo

At thirteen and a half, Atlanta decided to try real hunting no matter what. Her grandfather steadfastly refused to support her and her parents, torn, finally sighed as they set her up with a hunting ranch. When she arrived at the Beginner class, all of her classmates - who all happened to be male - sneered at her bow and arrow.

That hour, she impaled every one of the stuffed mechanical ducks with one long archer's arrow.

ooooooo

"Who shot it? Who shot it?"

The phrase echoed around the excited teenagers, eyes bright as they pursued their kill. Each of the sixteen young hunters had seen the deer - their first deer - stagger and disappear into the forest - but oh, _who_ had _shot_ it? It was definite that whoever had managed to take the deer down would be rewarded total glory among the group of impressionable teens.

Germain Dubois boasted away just behind Atlanta's shoulder as they trooped through the green-brown shades of the woodland, golden light filtering in through the gently swaying leaves. "My father could hunt wherever he wanted and catch something every time, he was that good," the seventeen-year-old said proudly, chest puffed out and back up straight. "He was amazing. As was my grandfather, and my great-grandfather... my grandfather was a commander in the Battle of Normandy. Gunnery is in my blood."

Atlanta sighed, rolling her eyes. "So must idiocy be," she replied coolly.

Germain seemed to miss this statement, continuing about his lineage. "My great-great-great-great-great-grandfather was one of the King's most favoured hunters, I heard. He was in the King's own special hunting party. Of course, I've inherited his skills. That deer was obviously mine. Don't worry, though, Lantie, I'll let you give me a kiss once I pick up my kill."

Atlanta scowled at the nickname and the derogatory comment, annoyance bottling up and spilling over, the fourteen-year-old drawing an arrow in a flash and pinning Germain up against a nearby tree even faster. "Call me 'Lantie' one more time and this'll be up somewhere a lot less comfortable than your throat," she murmured dangerously, arrow pressing against his skin. The bow and arrow was still her preferred hunting weapon.

Letting go and continuing to tread forward, the redhead squinted at any sight of the fallen creature. Nothing could be seen, but she'd gotten the tingling intuitive feeling that it was nearby. Pivoting slightly to face into a deeper group of trees, Atlanta instinctively brushed the ferns and shrubs away, disappearing from the sight of the other teenagers. "Hey! We're supposed to stick together!" the leader shouted after her, and sighed. "C'mon guys. We can't leave her by herself."

The group wearily stepped through ancient tree matter and previously undisturbed ground, brushing away at the downtrodden green of the leaves and moss. "I don't know how she manages to get so deep in so fast," Cesar Clavet grumbled. There was only a slight track for them to follow, Atlanta's light steps only leaving gentle imprints on the dirt, much further apart than most normal people's tracks. They had never seen her run, never seen her body cut into the air as if it was the supple wind dashing through the trees. She had secretly sworn to herself never to run again, and she had broken her oath.

It was several more minutes until Lionel Blandin pushed away a final fern-filled layer, revealing a sight that made more than half the class cringe and sigh. Surrounded by the leafy green of forest scenery, Atlanta sat at peace, holding the lithe young deer, a single green-ringed hunting arrow piercing its skin.

ooooooo

When her parents received the photograph of the scene included in the hunting ranch's monthly newsletter, they cut it out and framed it in an elegantly fashioned golden frame. Even her grandfather begrudgingly agreed that there was something special about that photograph - something wild and frightening and yet so calm and beautiful about that photograph that sent chills down her mother's spine as she caught glance of it in the reflection of a mirror. Atlanta looked so serene, so soft, and so much quieter than they had ever seen before, a goddess amongst the green, green canopy of leaves and branches and damp pine cones. And yet the way her eyes were cast down at her catch and the crooked angle of one relaxed finger indicated that their precious only daughter was much more dangerous, much more wild and capable and powerful than they had only ever felt before.

Exactly one year later, Atlanta found a metallic golden necklace with a large disk of a pendant in their attic and her parents felt that same bone-crackling chill of fear as she examined its ancient engravings, callused fingers gently brushing against the golden glow.

* * *

**A/N: **Please feel free to correct my French if it turns out to be inaccurate. Forgive me if any of my facts feel a little wrong, I'm not a hunter or track star myself. But there we go for our favourite spunky tomboy redhead! Next up is the colour blue with another of our beloved boys. 


	5. Blue

** Chapter Five: Blue**

_blue: adj. depressed in spirits; dejected; melancholy._

"Hey Theresa," Odie greeted the redhead as she entered the brownstone, hands resting on the thick deli-style sandwich he had just created. "What's up?"

The girl gritted her teeth and slammed the back door, the cheerily painted metal of its surface rattling on its hinges as she stormed into the kitchen, tossing her keys down on the kitchen table. Reaching over to grab a bottle of orange juice in the fridge, Theresa sat down heavily on the chair across from Odie. "You know the school play?"

"Yeah," he answered, mouth full of lettuce, bread and ham, "you've been talking about it for months. You're in it, right?"

Theresa scowled. "Yes, I am," she said, taking a sip of juice. "And I've been telling you all that I want you to come next week. It's not every day you'll see me playing an Amazon queen with a name that sounds like a jungle animal's."

Odie gestured for her to continue, setting down his sandwich. "Course we're coming."

"Well, you might be coming, but apparently everyone else is too busy to watch me say about six lines. Neil has a photoshoot for some stupid face cream he's never even heard of, and Herry's going to visit his grandmother. Archie and Atlanta are, apparently, going to see some sci-fi movie marathon they've been dying to go see for weeks, and they've managed to get tickets for opening night. And I_ thought_ he'd want to come but Jay says it's the night of a lifetime star-wise, because some _stupid_ comet is going to be streaking across a sky it hasn't seen in four hundred years and he's just got to see it."

Theresa's face was stormy as she glared down into her glass of orange juice. She bit her lip and muttered, "I didn't know nobody wanted to see it."

"I'm coming," Odie said sympathetically.

"Well," Theresa sighed, "at least you are."

--

Theresa sat quietly backstage, fiddling with the sleeve of her costume and blowing the tendrils of hair hanging over her face away. She sighed, thoughts on her six best friends. It felt kind of like she'd been stabbed in the heart, five of her friends turning their backs on her when she wanted them to be with her the most. She didn't usually try for acting parts in school plays but she'd joined this one because she'd known she would have their support. It was just too bad she didn't.

Rachel, a shy girl who had been helping backstage, came up to the crestfallen descendant of Theseus and gently tapped her shoulder. "Yeah?" Theresa answered dejectedly, not bothering to look up.

"Your friends sent you some flowers," Rachel said quietly with a smile, depositing a fragrant, colourful bouquet of gorgeous blossoms into her arms. Theresa gaped. "Oh, and they told me to tell you to meet them outside for ice cream after the show," Rachel added, then gave one last timid smile before leaving to fix up a falling curtain on set.

Theresa's heart sang. Friends? _Plural_ friends? Did she really mean that Odie had brought the others, too?

Before long, Theresa was called up to the stage for the opening scene, and she stood smoothing her dress with a genuine grin. As the curtain opened languidly and her gaze fell upon the six of her friends sitting in the front row, Jay giving her a thumbs-up, she looked over at Odie and gave a small nod of deepest appreciation.

He grinned.

* * *

_blue screen of doom: n. the error screen on a computer as characterized by a blue background and black or white blinking text._

"Odie?" Atlanta called from somewhere upstairs. The smaller boy's eyes opened sleepily from where he looked to be dozing off next to Herry, who was watching a soap opera starring a curvy young woman and a heavyset muscleman. He adjusted his crooked glasses and dumped his bowl of chips on to Herry's lap, where the Herculean teenager started munching away happily.

Trampling up the stairs and searching from the source of her voice, Odie entered Atlanta's room, where she sat in front of her computer, poking dejectedly at the keyboard. "I don't know what I did," she moaned, turning on her chair and looking at him pleadingly. "The stupid error screen won't go away. I've even tried turning it off and on a couple times."

"You probably let in a virus or a Trojan - see, I tell you all to install firewalls, but nooo, your computers are all so wonderful..." Odie trailed off, edging in front of Atlanta's computer and trying a combination of keystrokes. "That should do it."

The screen flashed black several times with a few odd noises, then resumed its evil blue display, although now decidedly upside-down. "Or it won't," Odie added, now thoroughly intrigued. "Hey Atlanta, what were you doing before it crashed?"

Atlanta suddenly went pink. "Um, I was, uh, typing up something. For... for school. Why? Did you see it? Cause it was for school. Honestly. Really."

Odie raised his eyebrows. _That girl is crazy,_ he thought secretly, and attempted another few keystrokes. The screen display flipped back, right-side up. "Ookay. Well, there's not gonna be much to see so you go downstairs or something. I think Archie said he was bringing home doughnuts. I'll call you when I've finished."

--

"Odie?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you done yet? It's kind of hard to sleep, what with the glaring blue light and all."

The dark-skinned boy continued tapping away frantically at the keyboard. He had been sitting on that computer chair for hours now, and Atlanta shook her head a little as she sat up, turning on her bedside lamp. The floor near his feet was littered with empty Red Bull cans, the blanketing night outside was pitch-dark, and she hitched her eyebrows at the older boy. When you got down to it, Odie was utterly _neurotic_. "Look, Odie, if you can't fix it, why don't you just wait until morning and get some rest or something? I could send it over to the techno-Gree-"

"No, I can fix it!" Odie interrupted, eyes glued to the unchanging error screen. His voice was uncharacteristically loud, irritated, and accompanied by a large side serving of desperation. "I can fix anyth- AHA!"

Atlanta looked up wearily. "You fixed it?"

"Yeah!" Odie answered excitedly, still staring at the screen, which had now reverted to its state from before it had crashed. He faltered slightly. "Um, Atlanta? I don't think writing a love letter to Archie was any part of your homework."

She very accurately threw a pillow at the back of his head as she went very, very red.

* * *

_blue in the face: adj. exhausted and speechless, as from excessive anger, physical strain, etc._

As the huge beast roared, coiling tail whipping above their heads, Neil gave a whimper, arms protectively encircling his head. "How'd he get his hands on the sphinx? I thought that one died because of that guy Eddie or whatever."

"_Oedipus_," Odie corrected, one arm stretched out as the opposing hand tapped away at the screen strapped comfortably on to his arm, a new invention he had recently come up with. Connected wirelessly to the internet and he could look up information on a monstrous ally of Cronus' in a heartbeat. "And she's supposed to be asking us a riddle which, if we can't answer, will subject us to untimely deaths."

Archie staggered backwards as the sphinx swept a feathered wing across the ground towards him, letting his whip fly and deeply cut her side. She roared again, a kind of screeching lion's call, and stood on her back paws, wings unfurling and ready for take-off. "Sorry, but she seems more likely to kill us all than ask us stupid riddles, Odie!" Archie yelled, taking aim with his whip again.

"I guess we've just got to ditch that thought, then," Odie muttered, tapping away.

Theresa was, with difficulty, making her way over to Odie, in between thwacking the beast with an end of a nunchuck every once in a while. "Odie!" she said, kicking the sphinx's tail with a leap. She landed on her hands and somersaulted back to her feet. "Odie, I sense - I sense something isn't right about this sphinx. It's almost like it... like it isn't real."

"Isn't real, huh?" Odie muttered, glancing back up at the sphinx, which was now trying to swing the huge form of Herry off her tail. "Must be some kind of simulation, enhanced with Cronus' magic... well if you're gonna play it like that, Cronus..."

Minutes passed, and the six battling the sphinx were getting more and more weary. No matter what they did, the beast always seemed to recover. Jay gave a grunt as he slashed a deep cut into the sphinx's leg, looking around quickly.

"Where's Odie, guys?" he yelled as Atlanta shot a blistering succession of lasers at the sphinx's face.

"I'm here," Odie piped up, emerging from behind the bush he was crouching behind. "Don't do anything for a couple seconds, okay?"

Archie ducked a swerving swipe the sphinx aimed in his direction. "Why...?"

"Just trust me," Odie said, grinning.

--

Cronus watched the stolen computer screen with relish, certain his simulated sphinx would take those pesky teenagers out (or at least one, leaving the world in his hands - he did so like prophecy ultimatums). Turning to gesture a giant over, platter of grapes at the ready, Cronus turned back to see his sphinx suddenly stop and shudder, magical pixels shaking, and disappear into nothing.

He slammed both fists into the table as the computer suddenly crashed, face contorted with anger. A white display had taken over the screen, a series of blue letters centered on what should have been his view of the stupid teenagers getting killed.

_Cronus,_

_Happy Wednesday!_

_Much love,  
Odie_

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the enormous wait - I've really no excuse xD. Indigo is up next with Theresa :) 


End file.
